Shameless
by myheartisyours0523
Summary: Kurt Hummel is SO ashamed of himself. Purt.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer – No matter how much I wish I did, I do not own Glee, nor make profit from it.**

**Summary – Kurt is so ashamed of himself.**

Prologue 

Kurt was ashamed of himself.

Here he was, being pushed against the wall of a closet.

A janitorial closet.

Where janitors kept their cleaning supplies and dirty mops and countless other _disgusting _things.

And to make matters worse, Kurt didn't actually care that much.

He didn't care that his Gucci shirt was pressed against filthy white wash, or that both of his Prada suspenders (that were, not to mention, his favorite canary yellow pair) had been discarded somewhere unknown, or that his perfect, styled hair was disheveled beyond anything he'd ever had to deal with.

He did care, however, about the hot lips that were hungrily devouring his own and the long fingers that crept under his shirt and were now pressing on the tight skin stretched over the muscles in his back. He cared about the _beautiful _sound that Puck made when, in a moment of sexiness, bit down on his bottom lip.

Despite this all, however…

Kurt was ashamed of himself.


	2. The Challenge

**Disclaimer **- **Regrettably, I do not own Glee, or any of the characters (or Chris Colfer. sad face.) **

**A Note: Although I love writing this, it's taking my forever to spit out a few rather terrible sentences, which I have to rewrite and fix, so the chapters (for right now) will be short. Bare with me, however - I'll be on a roll in no time. ;)**

**Enjoy. **

**_One_  
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He wasn't exactly sure how it all started. Maybe when he saw them perform Push It. Even the straightest guy has to admit: Hummel looked _sexy. _Maybe it was when Hummel looked incredibly vulnerable the day after Finn broke the dude's heart. Maybe it was the day Puck realized that the real reason he liked to throw Hummel in the dumpster was because he liked being close to him, if not for only a few seconds.

He wasn't sure why Hummel was suddenly interested in him, either. It wasn't like the dude stared at him the way he stared at Finn. His blue eyes always got this beautiful, misty look about them…Like lust and craving and anger all mixed into one. Like a storm in his irises or some fruity crap like that. Mostly, when Hummel looked at him, it was in disgust and disliking. Not exactly the type of look you'd expect from a guy that you spend at least an hour making out with everyday.

Despite their differences, there was something…magnetic about Hummel. Puck's eyes were instantly drawn to him, to his weird clothes and his perfect hair and his above-it-all attitude. There was something mysterious about him, something different, something waiting beneath the surface of that perfect façade.

So maybe it was the _challenge _that started it all.


	3. Not So Ugly

**Disclaimer **- **Regrettably, I do not own Glee, or any of the characters (or Chris Colfer. super sad face.) **

**Thanks for the reviews. :) They help me and they make me happy.  
**

**Enjoy. **

Two steps forward. A little step to the left, avoiding the rather disgusting couple that can't keep their hands to themselves. Four more steps. Almost to the front doors. Maybe he would finally make it to school without -

"Hummel."

If there was a good enough swear word to illustrate Kurt's situation, he would have said it. Unfortunately, however, the English language was lacking considerably. At least, he reminded himself, they used his real name instead of a homophobic slur. He clucked the leather strap of his bag and sucked a deep breath into his lungs, puffing his chest out as far as he could.

"Listen, you Neanderthals, I simply refuse to-"

Futile words. He felt hands in his arm pits, lifting, and the distinct aroma of Axe and coffee before the inevitable, revolting smell of trash overtook any other and he landed on (thankfully) a pile of supposedly recycled paper. He stared up at the blue sky for a moment, cursing all of them, and then lifted himself out of the dumpster. They hadn't even given him time to take off his silver Bebe jacket.

Mercedes was waiting for him near the door. Her face was sympathetic, but when he held up one finger, polished nail catching the sunlight, she swallowed any words of pity she would have expressed earlier. Kurt looped arms with her, squeezed her hand tightly, and together they cat-walked to his locker.

"Calvin or Coco?" He asked after flicking his locker open. Mercedes stuck her hand on her hip and inspected both pieces of clothing.

"Co-"

"Do you have a dressing room in there or something, Hummel?" There it was again; coffee and Axe, mixed into one admittedly delicious smell. Kurt whipped his head around and met the hazel eyes of Noah Puckerman.

"Why don't you go back to one of the whores you always have on hand, Puck?" Kurt spat at him. Puck gave a dazzling grin that made Kurt want to blush. Of course, that would _never _happen. "No one wants to see your hideous face."

He turned back to Mercedes, hoping that Puck would just admit defeat and walk away. Unluckily, he had disregarded Puck's insanely huge ego. He heard the taller boy mutter "ugly?" and suddenly, Puck had himself pressed against every inch of Kurt's body…_from behind. _Kurt just about peed in his overly priced, Gucci skinny jeans. He could feel Puck's breath tickling his neck and the warmth that the boy was radiating through his Old Navy tee shirt. Kurt felt goosebumps start on his skin.

"Not so ugly now, huh, Hummel?"

**More coming, I promise.**

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	4. Kinda Sexy

**Disclaimer **- **Regrettably, I do not own Glee, or any of the characters (or Chris Colfer. super, super sad face.) **

**Thanks for the reviews. They make me smile and motivate me.  
**

**Enjoy. **

Puck guessed he went a little far. He wanted to back up, but Hummel's body…Well, it felt pretty damn good. He felt Hummel tense, a blush creeping up his neck. Puck grinned and leaned closer. The kid smelled kinda like coconut or something. Not like a regular dude. Goosebumps peppered his arms. Puck smiled wider.

"Not so ugly now, huh, Hummel?" He made sure to exhale right on the kid's neck. If Puck knew how to do something, it was how to seduce people. He slipped at hand onto Kurt's hip, making the boy gasp a little, and slid a finger into an unused belt loop. For a smart dude, Hummel was being kinda stupid. Taking time to bask in the warmth that the kid was giving off and the blush that was creeping up to his ears one last time, Puck grabbed him by the collar and shoved him towards the bathroom. "One swirly, coming right up!"

"Puckerman, if you hurt him, I _will _cutyou!" Mercedes called helplessly from behind them as a few football buddies surrounded her with folded arms. Puck snorted to himself. Aretha wasn't going to touch him.

He forced Hummel into the bathroom and slammed the door. The kid looked incredibly scared, like someone had threatened his favorite pair of fruity designer jeans. Somehow, though, he pulled himself to his full height (which, Puck snickered, was not very tall at all) and put on a perfect mask of disgust and power.

Even Puckzilla was a little intimidated.

"Puck," Kurt bit, Puck's name sounding like a swear word off his tongue, "if you touch me again, I swear by the name of Gucci, I will scream like a little girl and kick my beautiful Prada boot into your beloved balls. Do you understand me?"

"Oh, wow, Hummel, you're real scary." Puck spat back sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm 'really' scary, Puckerman."

"Whatever. I didn't drag you in here to get a grammar lesson." Hummel just narrowed his eyes and started edging toward the door, like Puck wouldn't notice. "Hummel, I'm not going to give you a swirly."

He stopped edging. "Why in the world not?"

"I wanted to talk."

"What, exactly, would you ever have to say to me?" He wasn't looking at him; Hummel's big blue eyes were glancing around the bathroom for some type of escape route. Puck didn't like that Hummel's attention was divided. He didn't like that at all. He wanted every bit of Hummel's attention on him.

"You're kinda sexy when you're angry."

That damn sure did it. The kid was just blatantly staring at him now; one eye was narrowed like Finn always did when he was trying to figure out some hard puzzle. His mouth hung open a little, making Puck want to kiss it for all he was worth, and it felt like hours before Hummel could regain his composure.

"That's hilarious, Puckerman. Congratulations, your simple brain appears to be working. Too bad it can only make retarded jokes. Can I go now? As in, let me out before I permanently damage your genitals." Hummel's surprise had given him strength or something; he actually started toward the door, like Puck was just going to let him walk out.

"Hummel." Puck grabbed his shoulders, the metallic fabric of the dude's jacket sliding under his rough palms. "I'm not joking, alright?"

"No, it's not alright!" Hummel's voice rose an octave, a sound that Puck didn't think any guy was capable of. "You're messing with me! This is a new low, even for you, Puckerman! And for your information, just because I'm gay doesn't mean that I like every pathetic boy that throws himself at me. I'm not interested in you _at all_."

Puck arched one of his eyebrows. Yeah, right. Everyone was into Puck. His guns were to die for. Still, Hummel's words almost made him back off. His blue eyes were fiery, angry and unforgiving, and Puck really wanted to keep his favorite appendage from harm. Despite this, he decided he had nothing to lose.

So when Hummel went to shake his hands off, Puck let him. And when he stomped toward the door, Puck let him. That's as far as he got, though. Puck caught him around the waist, spun him back around, and kissed that beautiful, annoying mouth.

**Review? Pleasey, pleasey, please? **

**p.s. thanks for reading. :)  
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	5. I Want You So Bad

**Disclaimer **- **Regrettably, I do not own Glee, or any of the characters (or Chris Colfer. super, super, super sad face.) **

Kurt could predict what was coming when Puck grabbed him. He saw that cyclone start to stir in Puck's eyes and Kurt Hummel was far from stupid. Far, far from stupid. He felt a rush of self-pity; he had almost escaped the clutches of the school badass. The only appropriate swear word he could come up with was "douchebag", which paraded continuously in his head as Puck's hands tightened around his waist. He met those stormy eyes as Puck brought him closer, but he refused to look away.

Kurt made his body tense, ready for the pain, and tried very hard not to look vulnerable. He closed his eyes at the very last second, knowing that soon the sting of Puck's hard knuckles would knock him to his knees. The taller boy's hands on his hips were hot, burning through Kurt's expensive jeans.

Three.

Two.

One.

Knuckles?

Lips. Lips on his, warm, kissing him like they would never see each other again. Kurt's first kiss.

And very suddenly, Kurt was kissing him back, just as desirous and fevered. He couldn't register what was happening. All he knew, at that moment, is that he didn't want it to stop.

The hot hands that were fastened around his hips came up, running over his stomach, grasping at his back and pulling his entire body flush against Puck's. He gasped at the contact, and abruptly, he hands were feeling every inch of Puck had he could reach.

And then he came to his senses.

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!" He squeaked, wrenching his mouth away from the lips that were proving to be addictive. He shoved Puck's hands off his behind (when had they managed to slip down there? And why, in the name of Chanel, were his placed dangerously close to Puck's favorite organ?) and stumbled an unflattering few steps back. "What in the _hell _do you think you're doing?"

"Eloquent, Hummel." Puck smirked, the sight sending a shiver down Kurt's back. The jock's fingers slipped down his own shirt, smoothing the fabric of disdainful wrinkles.

Kurt tried desperately to flush any memory of his hands under that same shirt. "Puckerman, I swear, if you ever try that again, I'll-"

"Look at me like you want to do it all over again? Kinda like you are right now?" That cocky grin made Kurt want to scream. He backed into the wall, spreading the pads of his fingers onto the cold tile, hoping that somehow it would calm him down. Unfortunately, Puck's smoldering eyes were making that exceptionally hard. Kurt let his eyes drop shut and breathed in that familiar mixture of Axe and coffee.

"Can you leave me alone?" Kurt asked quietly, keeping his eyes clamped tight. He heard Puck sigh, almost morosely, and then the displacement of air as he moved slightly.

"Hummel, this isn't a joke." Kurt jumped; Puck's voice was a whisper, but it was so close to his ear that the jock had to be leaning into him. "This isn't some game that I'm playing. I want you, Hummel."

Kurt shivered again.

"I want you so bad."

**Reviews are good, reviews are happy. So give me one and I'll write another...chappie? Haha, FAIL. Please write a review. :D  
**


	6. I'll Mark You

**Disclaimer **- **Don't own Glee. sad face.**

**You guys are cool, and your reviews make me happy. Thanks for that. Also, I know the chapters are short. Sorry about that. My brain has random bursts of inspiration...And they're short bursts. But at least it keeps you coming back for more, right? ;) Anyway, enjoy! Love, Chuck.**

**p.s. LOL, Puck is in juvy. Best. Thing. EVER. He'll be back (or else...). :)**

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Puck kinda wanted to punch something.

"I want you so bad."

What was he _thinking_? He rolled his eyes at his own lameness. It sounded so corny to his ears. Hummel, however, had all but melted.

"Please just leave." He'd managed before stalking (with an admirable amount of stability, considering Puck himself was a little shaky after that kiss) into a cubical and locking the door behind him. Puck had twisted his lips in disappointment and stomped his way back out into the hall.

Disappointment was not attractive on Puck. Even he would admit it. His eyebrows knitted together and he couldn't even sum up enough energy to show of his guns during Glee Club (which Hummel failed to show up for; Mercedes almost went diva on Puck's ass, but Mr. Shue explained quickly that Hummel had opted out of Glee for today). After waiting for a few long months, the reaction Hummel had given him was just...unsatisfactory. He hadn't know exactly what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't what he got.

He jammed his key into the ignition of his truck, anxious to be anywhere but near the school. Distantly, the bell rang, and Puck turned the key.

His truck stalled, then fell silent.

"Really? Really, truck? Today, of all days, REALLY?" He punched at the steering wheel. Puckzilla deserved a much better car. Like a Corvette. Or Porsche. He tried again, but the engine didn't even turn over this time. He pressed his forehead into the dashboard. "Jesus help me."

"It's probably your battery."

Puck jumped. "God?"

"Yes, you over-sized, idiotic gorilla, this is God. By the way, you're way too arrogant for my taste and I'm going to smite you now."

"Hummel." It came out as a groan. He turned his head and met two blue eyes. "I know it's my battery, okay? Now if you could leave me alone, that would be really nice. Fuck you very much."

He turned his eyes back into the dusty dashboard. The squeal of the rusty door opening found his ears and something connected hard with the side of his neck.

"Ow!"

"Listen, Puckerman, stop being such a pussy. I've already had to deal with your annoying, cocky, vexatious, contemptuous self today and I'm _this-" _Fingers came under Puck's chin and jerked his face upward. Kurt was holding his thumb and pointer finger out, "-close to leaving you stranded here in the parking lot without a jump. Understand?"

Puck sighed and straightened. Hummel was lounging (like a chick, Puck noted) in the passenger seat, running a few fingers through his perfect hair. "You're a real ball buster, aren't you?"

Hummel let out a giggle that made Puck smirk a little. "That one way to put it, I suppose."

"So are you going to give me a jump or what, Hummel?"

The kid checked his nails. "Let me think about it...Um, no."

"What?" Puck stared, trying to keep his eyes off of Hummel's full lips, which the dude had chosen, just at that moment, to lick.

"I think," Hummel started, smoothing his jacket with his long fingers (Puck resisted the urge to follow them as they moved down the slick fabric), "that you should come to my house and watch TV with me."

"Huh?"

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Puckerman, could you please _try _to keep up? I want you to come to my house."

"Can we make out?"

"_Puckerman!_"

He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He really didn't want to say the next words that fell ceremoniously out of his mouth. "So...as friends?"

Hummel just smiled.

* * *

They had taken Hummel's car. Puck had been impressed by the pimpin' rims and awesome paint job, but the kid wouldn't let him prop his feet up on the dashboard or mess with the radio.

"Rule one. Keep your grubbing paws off my baby."

He learned several rules during that short drive back to the Hummel Residence (consisting mostly of things he did that he wasn't supposed to, like rest his hand on Hummel's thigh or try to climb into the backseat while the car was still moving), but somehow, they made it back the house without killing each other.

Puck thanked God that Mr. Hummel wasn't home (he could just imagine THAT conversation; "Hey, there. Yup, I'm Puck, the guy your son hates. I got some girl pregnant...Oh, and I made out with Kurt earlier today. Okay, bye."). He found the Hummel house similar to the kid who lived there: clean, good-smelling, and underrated.

The basement room was the most surprising to Puck. It was white, all white ("It's not white, Puckerman!"), and it was such a bachelor pad that Puck wondered why _he _didn't have a room like Hummel's. It was..._suave. _

And Puck absolutely adored the '57 inch flat screen television.

"Hey, Hummel."

"Yes?"

"Give me the remote."

"Ha, ha. Soo hilarious, Puckerman. Why would I ever-?"

"Give it to me or I'll take it." Puck cocked an eyebrow at him. A challenge. Hummel looked very close to blushing.

"Hmpf." Hummel looked over at him. Puck could feel his eyes traveling over him, inspecting the muscles under his tee shirt. He was wondering if he could fend Puckzilla off. It was highly unlikely, Puck smirked. Unless the kid had magical powers."Just try and take it! I'm don't play nice when it comes to Iron Chef, Puck, I don-"

Puck, however, was already advancing. They had been on opposite sides of the couch, Hummel pushed against the arm (it had kinda offended Puck when the kid had sat so far away from him). The kid was fighting his fight or flight instincts. He couldn't decide which one to give in to, by the scared look in his big, blue eyes. By the time he had made up his mind, though, Puck had an arm on each side of him, blocking him in, and was just inches from his face.

"Hummel, you have exactly three seconds to give me the remote." He said quietly; it was almost a whisper. Hummel's eyes were wide, though he was trying desperately to show no emotion on his face.

"What happens after three seconds?" He asked, voice wavering slightly. Puck smiled, bent his head, and kissed the small section of skin where Hummel's neck met the collar of his jacket.

"I'll mark you. Right there."

**Wow, that was a bloody load of crappy writing. :-/**

**Sorry, all. I have a PSAT tomorrow and I'm freaking out. Studystudystudy.  
**

**xoxo.**

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	7. Till Next Time

**Disclaimer **- **Don't own Glee. sad face.**

**Thanks for the luck and the reviews (the PSAT was a breeze. Shweet.) So question: is Kurt Hummel the cutest thing to ever dress up as a man AND a woman on last night's GLEE? Answer: Yes, I do believe so. Chris Colfer is the MAN. Love, Chuck. **

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Kurt's skin was tingling. He wanted to arch his neck, make it more accessible for Puck's warm mouth, but he berated himself and nudged Puck away. "Away", of course, was not very away at all. Yes, he did remove his lips from Kurt's skin, but he stayed close, his hazel eyes intense and wide.

For a minute, Kurt wondered why _exactly _he had asked Noah Puckerman to come to his house. He would have been lying to himself if he said it was merely to watch television. Maybe it was to escape that lonely feeling, the one that disappeared when Puck's hands were burning through his clothes, when his lips were on his skin. When, despite how annoying it was, Puck smirked in his direction or made a idiotic, rather hilarious comment.

He realized, quite abruptly, that he was _using _Puckerman.

"Hummel, it's been like, thirty seconds, and you're just staring off into space. I know you don't like anyone messing with your precious skin, so why aren't you freaking-?"

Kurt grabbed Pucker's face with both his hands and forcefully brought their lips together. Puck reacted almost immediately, his hands snaking under Kurt, moving from his thighs to the small of his back, pulling him closer. He dragged Kurt into his lap and unzipped his jacket, pushing the fabric off his shoulders without a second glance. Kurt felt like he was on fire.

Kurt hungrily dove his hands under Puck's shirt, making the taller boy give a breathy moan. Kurt's toes curled in his Burberry socks.

And suddenly, he didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.

* * *

"So, Hummel, what are we, exactly?" They were spooning on the couch, Puck's hand running up Kurt's thigh, over his hip, and back down again. Kurt was aware that a few days ago, he would have vomited at the thought of spooning with the badass. Now, he just wanted to be close to Puck. He liked the way that smell, the mixture of hazelnut coffee and men's aftershave, lingered around him. It was becoming addictive, that smell. Kurt twisted in his arms and glanced up at Puck, then traced his own swollen lips. After his first make-out session, they felt puffy and sensitive.

"What are you talking about?"

"Like...we're not going steady, ri-"

"NO." He might have said it too quickly, a little too abrasively, because Puck's eyebrows drew together in an indignant, hurt way. "I just don't think that we're compatible."

"But we're 'compatible' enough to make-out?" He expressed his disposition by nipping the tip of Kurt's ear. The smaller boy wiggled away.

"There's a difference between a physical relationship and a _real _relationship, Puckerman."

"So you want me for my body." There was a smirk on Puck's face that informed Kurt that he was merely joking. "I'm not surprised. I've got killer guns."

Kurt snorted and untangled himself from Puck's 'killer' limbs and went to the mirror to check his hair. "You should go."

Puck sat up and ran a hand over his buzzed head. Kurt watched the muscles in his back ripple as he pulled his shirt back over his head (Kurt vaguely remembered pulling it off) and headed toward the door. He stopped just behind Kurt, however, and lightly pressed a kiss the crown of his perfect head.

"Till next time, Hummel."

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	8. His Middle Finger

**Disclaimer – No matter how much I wish I did, I do not own Glee, nor make profit from it.**

**Someone please tell me that Puck wasn't cut from Glee ): That will be a sad day. Anyway, enjoy! Love, Chuck.**

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**"**Annnnnd sway, clap, clap, swaaaay, clap, clap, step-ball change, annnnd swaaay!"

Puck watched, exasperated, as Finn _yet again _tripped over his own huge feet. The only reason they had to do this routine over and over was because of the kid. Couldn't he find rhythm?

Finn picked himself up from the floor and muttered an apology to anyone that would listen (the number was plummeting; they were tired of doing step-ball changes). Even Mr. Shue looked a little exasperated, and the guy had an amazing amount of patience. Puck sighed and wiped at his forehead. He was just in his wifebeater, but the auditorium was boiling. Glancing around, everyone had similarly red skin and had to keep brushing the sweat off their faces.

Except, he realized, Hummel. The boy had a hand poised on his jutted hip, his blue eyes locked on Mr. Shue desperately trying to teach Finn to sway the right way (or were his eyes just locked on Finn? It was impossible to tell) and wearing a long sleeved button down and a vest. Not to mention the white skinny jeans that looked like they had been painted on (Puck had to avert his eyes; he didn't want anyone to catch him staring at Hummel's ass) and despite this, he didn't look the least bit winded or overheated.

"Alright, everyone, let's try it again. Can someone please help Finn?" Mr. Shue glanced around hopefully, having given up on the boy himself. Finn sheepishly dragged his shoes across the floor when no one spoke. "Well...the best dancers are otherwise occupied, Finn. Maybe...Here, stand behind Kurt. Watch what he does. He's good."

Puck looked around just in time to see Finn moving sluggishly behind Hummel and glance down. Down. At Hummel's ass. _And his eyes stayed there. _Puck just about jumped the guy. Of course, why should he care anyway? Hummel wasn't his. But Finn was such a jerk about Hummel coming on to him the year before...It just didn't seem fair.

So Puck definitely had a motive (other than being blind with jealousy) for opening his mouth and saying, "What the hell? Hummel dances like a pussy. Finn, get over here and watch a real man dance so you don't go out on stage looking like a f-"

"Puckerman!" Mr. Shue said over him, the teacher's hand contacting with the back of Puck's buzzed head. "Be quiet and get back in line."

"But I'm obviously the best dancer out of everyone besides Mike and Britney and Santana, Mr. S!" He whined, sounding suddenly like a little boy who had just had his lunch money stolen. Mr. Shue seemed to consider this and then waved Finn over.

"Alright, Puckerman, you're right. But if I ever hear you even _start _to say that word again, you're gone."

Not that Puck would ever say it again regardless. The hurt, betrayed look on Kurt's face was enough to silence him. He turned to Finn, who was looking at him with that dopey look that was classic Finn, and sighed. "Dude, remember that baseball thing that he taught us before? Just think about that. Ya know, like we're swinging at baseballs."

Finn grinned happily and so commenced at least 10 minutes of pretend bat-swinging. By the end, however, Finn's hips were moving at the right speed and with the right rhythm. Puck thought he deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.

Or, he thought, glancing at the still stony expression on Hummel's pretty face, maybe not.

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Usually, lunch was uneventful for Puck. Only five different things happened during the period, in the same order everyday.

Sit down at the jock table.

Laugh at some joke.

Wolf down a sandwich that ends up tasting gross. Every time, never fail.

Laugh at some joke.

Drink water (coach was big on the hydrating thing).

Laugh at some joke.

He made his way into the lunch line, grabbed one of those disgusting sandwiches and a bottle of water, before stalking, in his best badass walk, towards the Glee table. Artie was first to notice him coming and Puck saw him murmur a warning to the rest of the gang.

"Sup, losers?" He asked as he plopped himself down beside (shudder) Rachel. Finn smiled dozily at him and Britney waved, but otherwise he was ignored. Until, of course, Hummel realized who was sitting across from him.

"Puckerman?" He asked, too surprised to remember that he was _extremely _pissed at Puck at the moment. Mercedes raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, fairy?" Puck asked, pretending to inspect his sandwich while mentally kicking himself. Fairy? Really?

"Aren't you supposed to be with your other gorilla friends?" Hummel asked, that storm (not the good kind, though, Puck winced) brewing in his eyes. "Or did they decide that they were too good for you? Because if they did, they were right. You're not good enough for anyone."

Artie whistled. "Ouch."

Puck was aware that all eyes were on him, waiting for him to bite back, to defend himself, but Puck remembered Hummel's face during Glee and felt a rush of remorse. That rush was the only explanation for the words "no, I wanted to sit with you guys", which happened to tumbled out of his mouth after said rush.

Hummel looked taken aback, but none less resilient. "Who said we wanted you here?"

"Kurt, lay off him." Finn mumbled, almost incoherently. Everyone turned to look at him as he prodded his own turkey sandwich. "He taught me this thing about baseballs-"

"Actually, that was Mr. Shue, you just forgot-" Puck tried to point out.

"-and it really helped my dancing and you guys don't have to deal with the crappy-ness anymore and stuff. So just everyone lay off him, alright? You owe him one."

Even Hummel, who was known for his biting retorts and grudges, let the subject drop after that. The resident diva gave Puck one long, lingering glance that could have burned a hole through his head, and then turned to Mercedes to discuss Michael Kors' new collection.

* * *

Puck found Hummel's car before he found Hummel himself. It was parked in the very back of the parking lot, like the kid took as long as he could to get to school. Puck realized that maybe he was trying to avoid the dumpster dives for as long as he could. Puck also realized he was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So he leaned against the driver's door of Hummel's "baby" (which was against one of the rules that he'd been taught the day before) and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Hummel obviously wanted to get home as soon as possible, because he was walking so quickly that he was almost running. It wasn't until he saw Puck leaning against his car that he slowed. His long fingers tightened on the strap of his leather bag and his cheeks drained of all color. Puck knew the kid had tried desperately to avoid him.

"Did I foil your plan, Hummel?"

"Oh, foil. Look at you, using such a big word!" Hummel clapped his hands together. "What a big boy!"

Puck smirked a little, hiding whatever emotion that was trying to sneak its way onto his face. "Okay, you're angry. I get it. You can stop the little show."

"I'm not angry, Puckerman. I'm _livid._ Why don't you go look that up? In the meantime, I'll go home." He pulled his keys out of his bag and waved them in Puck's face.

"Stop being such a bitch, Hummel. I wanna talk, alright?"

Hummel took a looked up into the blue sky, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Puck watched with one eyebrow cocked. When the smaller boy met his eyes again, Puck kind of wanted to run and hide. "Puckerman, I _do not _want to talk to you _at this moment. _Understand? Good. Now, get off my damn car."

"Hummel-"

Abruptly, the car alarm started to blare, making Puck jump away at the sound. Hummel managed to slip into the car and lock the door before Puck even had time to recover. Through the thick window glass, Hummel grudgingly mouthed, "Tomorrow."

Puck nodded, excepting this fate, and as Hummel pulled out of the parking lot, he flashed Puck his middle finger.

* * *

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	9. Just Had To Smile

**Disclaimer – No, I don't own Glee. Understand? Good.**

**Enjoy. :)  
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Five steps. Brisk steps. Halfway to the door. Sidestep that revolting couple. Mutter "get a room", causing them to glance over at him. The boyfriend would turn out to be a baseball player. Kurt would be tossed into the dumpster multiple times for that comment.

But today, he had worse things to face than the inside of a dumpster or the cold splash slushy.

Today, he had Puckerman to worry about.

* * *

Kurt was never very good at math. English, French, even history he could deal with. But not math.

Especially when Puck was lounging in the desk beside him, his cool hazel eyes trained intently on Kurt's face. How, exactly, was he supposed to ignore someone that was outright _staring _at him? Kurt sucked in a breathe and tried to focus on the paper in front of him. The numbers...they just weren't making any sense. He was being distracted and, by the smirk on his sickeningly attractive face, Puck knew exactly how he was affecting him.

"Puckerman, take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Only if you're naked, Hummel."

"Ugh, you disgust me."

"Didn't seem that way at your house."

He had obviously practiced his retorts after being destroyed by Kurt the day before. Kurt felt a twinge of respect for the jock. "Could you keep your beady eyes off me, please? I know I'm the hottest thing since Beyonce, but really, show some self control."

"I thought we were going to talk." Puck muttered quietly, a hand skimming slyly across isle and sliding up Kurt's Dolce&Gabbana pants. He shoved it away like it carried a deadly disease.

"We never talked before."

"So let's make out, then."

"We're in the middle of pre-cal, Puckerman!"

"Jesus, Hummel, for someone who patronizes me about being stupid, you're not very bright, are you? After all this, fairy." He looked exasperated, a first on Puck's badass profile. Kurt suddenly wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

"_Do not _call me _fairy._"

"Don't get your $200 panties in a bunch."

"Shut your ugly mouth, Puckerman."

"That's the second time you've used ugly, and I really don't appreciate it. You obviously don't believe it, so why say it?"

It was true; Puck was far from ugly, to say the least. Kurt's eyes passed over his tight, white tee, dark wash jeans, and the killer arms that Puck was most famous for. Realizing that Puck was watching his eyes, he sniffed hurriedly and stared back down at the jumble of words on his paper. "Your looks are the only thing you have going for you."

Puckerman was silent after that.

* * *

Silent until Kurt sucked playfully at the soft place where Puck's shoulder met his neck. He made a sound that, in years to come, would still give Kurt goosebumps.

Two of Puck's fingers were hooking around Kurt's unused belt loops, pulling him closer, closing any gap between them. They both moaned at the contact, at the friction, and Kurt's mouth attacked Puck's neck, biting and kissing anywhere possible.

"You're going to kill me, Kurt." He heard Puck groan amidst everything, amidst Kurt's long fingers feeling the strong muscles on his stomach and chest that clenched at his feathery touch, amidst the grinding and hot kisses. "You're my drug."

And it was corny, maybe, but at that moment, it sounded so perfect that Kurt just had to smile into Puck's lips.  


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**Oh my goodness, I'm exhausted! REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. REVIEW. pleaseeee. It will make me happy and make me want to write more! I hope it was good enough. ;) Love, Chuck.**


	10. Namely, Finn

**Disclaimer – No, I don't own Glee. Understand? Good.**

**Sorry I didn't update last night. I was otherwise engaged (I was at a birthday party...hahha). Enjoy. Love, Chuck.**

**

* * *

**Puck had meant it.

Puck almost never said things he didn't mean.

Unless he was angry. Or afraid. Or hurting.

Maybe he hadn't meant it to sound so corny (why did Hummel make him say such _pussy _things?), but he had definitely meant it.

By the way Kurt smiled (he had a cute smile, Puck noted, repressing a grin of his own), he had said the right thing. Which didn't happen very often at all, because Puck said stupid things, hurtful things. But he almost always meant them.

So he must have meant it when he murmured "for a dude, Hummel's kinda...pretty, isn't he?" to a dopey Finn, who just looked slightly uncomfortable and jerked his head in a noncommittal way that made Puck add, "he'll make some creepy fag happy, won't he?" and then he s_huddered_. Puck had never been so disappointed in himself.

Especially since he was that "creepy fag" that Kurt was making happy.

* * *

"Kurt?"

"Mhm?" His blue eyes were still on the thick library book in his lap.

"Did I ever, like...apoloize or whatever for being-"

"A asinine idiot that couldn't think for himself?" The eyes flicked up now, dancing a little. He was kidding, but Puck wanted a serious answer.

"A douche. Or that, whatever it means."

"That's gross, Puck."

"Kurt." He shifted slightly, looking around carefully before moving closer to him. They were far back in the library, and no one Puck particularly cared about went there, except Kurt. Who he actually cared about quite a lot. Too much probably. Kurt glanced up again from his book, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm trying to read about Eliza Minnelli, Puckerman."

"I don't know who that is."

Kurt sighed. "'Course not."

"Listen, Kurt, I just want you to know-"

"That you're sorry, you shouldn't have ceremoniously thrown me into dumpsters and slushied me and given me swirlies, blah blah blah. I get it."

"And the name calling."

This seemed to hit a nerve. Kurt stiffened considerable and his eyes traveled back down onto the page in front of him, remaining silent for what felt like ages, but was more like a few minutes. Just when Puck had thought Kurt wasn't going to speak about it again, he opened his mouth.

"My dad got a phone call."

Not exactly what Puck had been expecting at all. "Oh...that's...nice, Kurt."

"Not a normal phone call, Puckerman." He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "The anonymous kind."

"Someone crank called your dad? Hahaha, that must've been _awesome_!"

"They told him that his son was a fag." He said it almost nonchalantly, high voice quiet and casual. The laughter died in Puck's throat immediately in realization.

"You think I did that?" He had to admit, crank calling was something that Puck would most definitely do. But this time, he was innocent. Even Puck had the decency not to call the dude's dad. "_Hell _no, Kurt. No way."

Contented, Kurt leaned over and pressed the smallest of kisses to Puck's cheek, then returned (happily, Puck noted) to his book. Puck's hand came up, feeling the place were Kurt's lips had burned his skin, and wondered how exactly the guy had such an effect on him.

* * *

"And sway! Good! Okay, partner up." Mr. Shue waved his hands like he wanted to make everyone magically start moving. No one did. "Guys, come on, pair up. Boy, boy. Girl, girl. Go."

Puck was facing a dilemma. If he ran to Kurt, like he kinda REALLY wanted to do just then, he'd be subject to name-calling and gay jokes, which he didn't _ever _want to deal with...But who else would pair up with him? Finn?

"Guys! Really?" Puck snapped back to attention; all the boys (minus Kurt, who was just checking his nails on the sidelines) were shuffling awkwardly toward one another. The girls had already paired themselves together. "Alright, Finn and Kurt, Artie and Puck, Mike and Sam. Go."

Artie looked terrified as he wheeled himself over, but Puck had bigger issues at the moment. Namely, Finn.

Who was, once again, staring at Kurt's ass, which happened to be clad in a tight pair of black skinny jeans.

And before he knew what he was doing, Puck was stomping towards them.

* * *

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	11. Being Silly

**Disclaimer – Glee is not mine, unfortunately. I do not own it, nor make profit from it. I just write stories about it. :P **

**Did anyone notice that last chapter Puck stopped calling Kurt "Hummel"? ;) Yay for developments! Love, Chuck.**

**

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**

Kurt looked up from checking his cuticles. Had Mr. Shue just said "Finn"?

By the way that the extremely tall football player was padding sluggishly toward him with that lethargic smile on his face, Mr. Shue had. Kurt felt like cursing. Or crying. Or both.

"Hey, Kurt." Finn's smile used to make Kurt's stomach do back flips. Now, it only jumped feebly.

"Hello Finn Hudson." He smiled, deciding that the easier this was, the faster it would go by, and the sooner Puck would be kissing the daylights out of him.

Until he saw Finn's eyes travel.

Down.

Everywhere.

Was Finn Hudson checking him out?

"Hudson!" He knew that growl. Kurt whirled around, eyes wide, and caught the very last of Puck's stomping as he halted in front of Finn. "Dude, what the hell?"

"What?" Finn looked honestly confused; his brown eyes traveled from Kurt to Puck and back again.

Puck seemed to falter. "I...I need to talk to...Kurt."

"We're in the middle of G-" Kurt started to protest, but Puck's rough fingers clasped around his wrist and all but _carried_ him towards the door.

Kurt wondered, briefly, if Puck had suddenly come down with a serious disease that actually made him jealous (an emotion that Kurt hadn't been aware that the almighty Puckzilla was capable of feeling). As the jock pinned him against the wall by his hips, Kurt doubted this theory.

Until, of course, Puck whispered, "I don't _share, _Hummel."

Kurt wrapped his arms around Puck's muscled mid-drift, pulling him closer, and pressed his lips into the throbbing pulse point on the jock's neck. "Share? Who said anything about sharing?"

Puck swiveled slightly, and Kurt knew he was glancing around to make sure that the hallway was deserted. He bent his head a little, so that his lips were level to the shell of Kurt's ear. "Finn."

The breathy word brushed over Kurt, making goosebumps rise on his skin. He struggled to remain composed. Puck's hands snaked their way under his Prada shirt, the contrast of Puck's hot skin with his own cool flesh making him shiver. "What about him?"

"He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat."

"Puckerman, I can't help the fact that I'm sexier than Zac Efron in Charlie St. Cloud." He smirked as Puck's hands plunged, his hands slipping into the back pockets of Kurt's jeans.

"Right here, Kurt," Puck said as he dipped his head and kissed Kurt's neck, hands clenching around his behind, "his eyes were here. On your ass. He doesn't have a right to look at you. You're-"

"If you say 'mine', I might puke."

"-taken." Puck verified this by biting (and none too gently, Kurt noted) a very tender spot near his jawline.

Firmly, Kurt placed both hands on Puck's chest and pushed. Puck's hands slipped out of his pockets, lips pulled away from his neck. "I'm not taken. I make out with you. There's a difference. A big one, if I may be so bold. If some other boy, especially one that looks like Finn Hudson, wants to look at my voluptuous bottom, I don't really see the problem. And if you pull me out of Glee like that again..."

Kurt waved a warning finger and, with that, turned on his heel and strutted back into the auditorium.

And as he did, he noticed that Puck's profile had changed from lust and anger to something more along the lines of...ruefulness? Or, perhaps, anguish?

It was impossible to tell.

For a second, Kurt wondered if Puck was interested in him for more than making out between classes and talking in the library.

After that second, he decided that he was just being silly.


	12. Admitting

**Disclaimer – Glee is not mine. Never was, never will be. :(**

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* * *

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"Never have I ever...kissed a dude. Before you, obviously."

"Never have I ever kissed a man."

"What? I'm a man!"

"No, you're a silly, pretentious little boy who likes to pretend he's a man."

"Ouch."

"Please, you have so much ego to fall back on, that shouldn't have hurt at all."

Puck dipped his hand out the window, feeling the wind push against his palm. Kurt had whined at first about having the window open ("Damn you, Puckerman, it'll ruin my hair!"), but Puck had managed to convince him otherwise. "Never have I ever felt a guy up."

Halfway to the Hummel house, and Kurt finally met his eyes. He'd been avoiding them since they left school. Now, he winked. "We should broaden your horizons."

"Because I only kind of understand what that means, I'm just going to ignore it." Puck watched Kurt laugh (it was a quiet, pretty laugh, and lit up his face) and felt rather pleased with himself. Kurt Hummel was not exactly the easiest to make laugh. Or happy, even.

"My turn! Never have I ever-"

"Gotten lost on your way home? Where the hell are we, Hummel?" They had stopped passing houses; Kurt was driving up a winding road that looked anything but familiar to Puck.

Kurt sniffed disdainfully. "Please, Puckerman, give me some intellectual credit. We're not lost, you imbecile. I know exactly where we are."

"And why aren't we at your house?" He had rather enjoyed his last experience there. Puck had to awkwardly cross his legs after thinking about it.

"Because on Wednesday's, my dad get's home early from work."

To Puck, that was enough said. The thought of facing Burt Hummel was terrifying, even to a self-proclaimed badass. Puck glanced over at Kurt. "So you wanted more time with me."

Kurt raised one shoulder and didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Puck ran a hand over his head, sighing. How in the world had he gotten so attached?

* * *

It turned out to be a lake.

A very clear, very clean, very Kurt-like lake.

The soprano plopped himself down in the sand, not bothering to utter a word about his jeans (other than "these are last year's anyway"), and his blue eyes drank in the sight. Puck wondered, vaguely, why Kurt had chosen this place. The jock set himself down beside Kurt, stretching out his legs and relaxing under the sun.

"This is cool." He said after a few minutes of silence, surveying the landscape. Kurt nodded.

"I just...found it one day. Driving home." He passed a few fingers through his hair where the wind had blown it askew, making it settle back into perfect place. "You can think up here. It's like...the air is clearer."

Puck understood. He took a deep breath, sucking the air into his lungs, and reached over to take Kurt's hand. It was small, but not too small, and it fit comfortably in his. Kurt met his eyes, one side of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile, and leaned over to kiss Puck softly on the lips.

Puck pulled him closer, a hand at the back of Kurt's pretty head, and very suddenly, Kurt was in Puck's lap, and his hands were very close to the waistband of Puck's jeans, but they were kissing so heatedly that the jock wasn't even paying attention...

Until a cool hand managed to slip down, into his jeans, to his underwear line.

"Oi!" Puck jumped, pulling Kurt's hand out of his pants and quickly detaching his lips from Kurt's neck (where he'd almost made a lovemark). "What are you doing?"

Kurt blushed. "3rd base?"

Puck tried to keep from bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Despite how much his body was aching for Kurt, something (probably the part of him that was screaming "I love him, I love him, I love him, and he doesn't love me") kept him from unzipping his pants and letting Kurt go crazy. "Kurt...I've barely french kissed you yet."

The soprano arched an eyebrow. "The stud, the almighty Puckzilla wants to go slow? Since when?"

"Since he decided randomly that he was going to start making out with _guys_."

"Randomly?" It was Kurt's turn to look a little hurt. Puck backtracked rapidly.

"Well, not totally randomly. You're hot, Kurt. I've always kind of wanted you...But it's new, you know?" Or, he just didn't want to have meaningless sex with the boy he was in love with. Puck winced, hoping that Kurt would believe his cover story.

The boy's face was skeptical, but he kissed Puck tenderly and kept his hands above the belt for the rest of their daily session.

And during that session, Puck realized he'd just admitted to loving Kurt Hummel.

* * *

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	13. The Idiot

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* * *

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Despite my answer, I have a feeling you're going to ask me anyway."

"Good, because I am."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and looped an arm around Mercedes' shoulders. "Yes, love?"

"Have you been hanging with Puckzilla lately?"

Kurt jumped, surprised, and withdrew his arm. "What? Of course not! That's ridiculous. I hate that disgusting, over-sized monkey."

"Listen, Kurt, you better not be lying to me, because I _will_ go ghetto on your ass if I find out otherwise." She stuck her hand on her hip in a way that made Kurt want to beam; he had taught her so well. Unfortunately, he had to keep his cool.

"Cedes, I can't stand to be in the same room with him, let alone spend time with him. Why would you ever ask such an absurd question?"

Mercedes spun the dial on her locker, lifting a shoulder. "Boy, you kinda smell like him."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "I _what?" _

"You do, Kurt. And it's not just me, Quinn agreed." Mercedes glanced over his shoulder and wiggled her fingers at the blonde, who smiled as she passed them on her way to class.

"I...Maybe we use the same body scrub." Kurt was improvising wildly, his knuckles turning white from clutching the strap of his messenger bag so tightly.

"It's more like his personal scent. You know, he kinda smells like vanilla bean coffee and Axe mixed together." Kurt nearly said "_hazelnut_ coffee, Mercedes, _hazelnut_" but he managed to swallow the words before they made it past his lips. She arched one of her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. "_Ahw_-viously that is not your usual scent, since I've seen you put on Beyonce's Heat Rush between classes. Plus, I'm pretty sure that someone as studly as Puck would use soap, not a body scrub."

Kurt licked his lips. "I _have not _been spending extra time with Noah Puckerman, Cedes."

He wasn't, technically, lying. He was spending time with Puck's lips. And his hands. And his washboard abs and cocky grin and those hazel -

"Boy, you have goosebumps!"

"I'm cold." He was wearing a stifling wool vest. Mercedes' foot tapped on the cool floor tile. "Mercedes, please drop it. It's a ludicrous idea!"

She leaned over, closing the gap between them so that she couldn't be overheard, and whispered, "Kurt, I'mma let it go this time, alright? But if _anyone _finds anything out about you two before me, I will be _royally _pissed. Understand?"

Kurt nodded vigorously to avoid anymore questions (or stupid answers) that might give him away. Mercedes looked satisfied, looped arms with him, and pulled him to their next class.

* * *

Puck's reaction wasn't nearly what Kurt had expected it to be.

"So she's suspicious, so what?" He said, shrugging a shoulder as he leaned against a shelving unit. "I never said anything about keeping this whole thing secret, Kurt. I'm a badass. I don't care what other people think about me. Hell, let's go tell every-"

"No!" Kurt grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled him away from the small janitorial closet's only exited and entrance. He'd said it too quickly; Puck's face was stony. "I just...No, Puckerman."

"Why not? I know you're not ashamed of who you are. You're wearing a skirt for Christ's sake -"

"It's a _sarong!_ It's over my Prada jeans, so technically-"

"- So what is it, Kurt? Me? You're ashamed of me?"

"Puck, we're not _dating_. We make out! How many times do I have pound it into that little pea brain of yours? There's a very distinct difference between the two! I care about myself too much to meaninglessly date a supposedly badass thug that just wants to get into my pants!"

Puck glared at him, then abruptly dragged him into an angry, fiery kiss. When it ended, he held Kurt close, arms looped around his waist, and whispered into the shell of his ear, "Kurt Hummel, you're an idiot."

And then stalked (with so much sexiness that Kurt wanted to pull him back inside) from the closet and into the hallway.

"_I'm an idiot? I'm the idiot?" _Kurt sputtered, strutting out after him as the bell rang and the halls filled with people.

Despite the separation, however, Kurt still caught the shouted, "Yeah, you are!"

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**Short chapter...sorry. REVIEW. xoxo.**


	14. If Only

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* * *

Puck was trying to open his locker for the first time ever when he was confronted (rather violently) by an angry looking Finn.

"Dude, I forgot that stupid baseball thing again! I tripped over Mike earlier today when I was practicing in the locker room."

"I know. I was there, Finn." Puck rolled his eyes and spun the lock around, trying desperately to remember the four numbers Ms. Pillsbury had given him earlier.

Finn sighed heavily and whined,"Well, show it to me!"

"We're in the middle of the hallway, man!"

"Dude, I can't go into Glee and look like an idiot again! People already are annoyed with me and stuff for screwing them up! I _just _started to get...alright. Better, I guess." He shrugged one of his big shoulders. Puck's hazel eyes swept of his old friend and for a second, he actually felt like he owed Finn the trouble.

But then he remembered the quarterback's traveling eyes. "I, uh...can't. I have...to go make out with...a chick. So go ask someone else, alright? Brittany and Mike are better dancers than me anyway."

"Fine." Finn sighed. "I'll just go ask Kurt, he can swing his hips around pretty well. That's the same thing right? Plus, maybe he'll teach me how to grind, too, 'cause you know Rachel w-"

"No."

Finn arched an eyebrow. "Rachel doesn't grind, dude, I kn-"

"No, I'll teach you how to do the baseball thing." Puck gave up on his locker and watched Finn stick his hands in his pockets and grin widely. "Why are you smiling like an idiot?"

"No reason."

"Hudson..."

"You like Kurt, don't you?"

Puck stared at the thick jock, wondering just how the stupidest member of Glee had figured it out first. "Hummel's a dude, Finn."

The boy rolled his eyes like Puck was the unintelligent one. "Yeah, man, I realize that."

"Well, Finn, I like girls. Can you see the issue there?"

"First of all, you were pissed because I was checking him out in Glee. Second of all, you smile whenever anyone says his name (yeah, don't think I haven't noticed). Third of all, you didn't want me to grind on him, which, by the way, I know how to do pretty well."

Puck just shook his head. "Yeah, great detective skills, Hudson. Maybe I was pissed because you complained like a little baby about how Hummel was always checking _you _out. Now you've decided to do it to him? Not cool, man. And just maybe, I smile because he's freaking hilarious most of the time. And grinding on Hummel? Gross."

"Oh..." Finn shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie as Puck watched doubt flash across his face. "I guess that makes sense, then."

"Ya think?"

* * *

Kurt placed his fingertips at his temples and tried to rub away the headache that continued to grow worse as the day went on. He guessed it was a result of his guilty conscious.

What he was guilty of, Kurt couldn't place. Puck, he reasoned, was the one who was being completely out of character. Going slow? That wasn't Puckzilla's style. He was a bang-and-go, a manwhore.

...Right?

A hand found it way into his. Kurt glanced down, at the tan skin clutching his own paleness, and then up to meet Puck's eyes. Kurt had been waiting for him, leaning against the hood of his truck.

"Waiting for me, Hummel?" He brought Kurt's hand mercilessly very close to his lips, but didn't kiss it. Instead, he dropped it and crossed his arms over his chest. "What can this 'badass thug' do for you?"

"Explain." It sounded demanding even to Kurt's ears. Puck's eyebrow twitched upward, curious. "Explain why you would come out to everyone about this and why you want to go slow."

Concise and to the point. Kurt was proud of himself for avoiding flowery language. Puck scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll give you three guesses."

"That's not explaining, P-"

"Three guesses, Kurt. You have five minutes. Go."

"Fine! Guess one: You're playing a stupid, Neanderthal game that would be considered funny to anyone under twelve -"

"Wrong."

Kurt sighed. He didn't like this. "You want to seem more badass."

"Wrong."

"You want to get in my Gucci pant-"

"Don't even start, Kurt. Didn't we just establish that I want to go _slow_?" Puck's hazel eyes rolled toward the sky and stayed there, obviously seeking strength.

"That was three." Kurt reminded him quietly, reaching up to fix his already perfect hair. Puck met his eyes again.

"That was two. The sex one doesn't count."

Kurt bit the inside of his lip, blue eyes trained on Puck's chiseled profile. He wondered if Puck would object to a kiss...And then pushed the thought away.

"You have a unlikely, kinda creepy, ridiculous, little boy crush on me." It was half a joke, half a guess. Puck's expression didn't change, but he took Kurt's face in his hands and placed a kiss on the soprano's forehead. When Kurt needfully arched his head upward, searching for his lips, Puck snickered and allowed a crushing kiss to be pressed into his mouth. His rough hands slipped down Kurt's torso, gently tracing the nearly nonexistent curves of the smaller boy, as if trying to memorize them. His kiss became more heated, Kurt's fingers curling at the base of his neck, pulling his lips closer, deepening the sensation. Puck nearly cried out when he felt Kurt's warm hand find its way under his tee shirt, sketching patterns into the small of his back, trailing lower until Kurt summed up enouh courage to run his fingers over Puck's (toned, he smirked) behind.

And then Kurt's senses ruined their moment.

"Wurindaskoolspakinlot," He mumbled into Puck's mouth before detaching himself, " Puckerman, we're in the school parking lot! Oh my God, what if someone saw?"

Puck grinned a little at the boy's panic and reached around him to give the soprano a short slap on the butt. "Go home, Hummel. Hey, are those pants a little tighter than usual?" Kurt awkwardly crossed his legs and glared with such severity that Puck had to laugh. "You might want to take care of that. It's kind of _really _noticeable."

"I hate you." Kurt sputtered, his cheeks flaming red. Puck chortled as he pulled himself opened his car door and pulled himself into the drivers seat.

"Apparently not, because hate doesn't give you a boner. There's your punishment for being a bitch to me today." He winked and revved the engine. Over it's rumble, he yelled, "Really, Hummel, you love me."

As he pulled away, Puck sighed.

If only.

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	15. Whimpered Noah

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Kurt watched as the sunshine colored paint dripped back into its can. He wiped held his brush just above the opening, blue eyes watching every drop as it descended. Yellow? He twisted his lips and glanced around him. Thirteen different paint cans, thirteen different colors or shades. Redecorating his room was proving to be harder than he had imagined. Ever since the Finn incident, he needed to get rid of anything that reminded him of that experience. So there he stood in the middle of an empty room, different colored paints dripping from his paint brush.

He had avoided all reds; they made the room look smaller and definitely wouldn't compliment his skin tone. Kurt popped the top off a baby blue and inspected the contents. His room had been blue when he was young; his mother had picked it out for him. He shoved the cover back on without even testing it.

There was a promising cream, a muted gold, and a soft green that he had yet to throw out. Kurt sighed and threw his brush down on the newspapers he had laid out, sticking his hands on his hips in a defeated gesture. What, exactly, was he going to do?

"Nice look, Hummel. I didn't know you owned a pair of sweatpants."

Kurt jumped, whirling around at the voice, and watched Puck swagger down the basement stairs. "They happen to be Juicy Couture. What are you doing here and who let you in?"

"The door was open." Puck shrugged, surveying his battlefield of colors with curious eyes. "Working on some art?"

"Redecorating, actually." Kurt couldn't keep the nippiness out of his voice. "Is there a reason you're here?"

Puck slid off his jacket (under which, Kurt gulped, he was only wearing a wife-beater) and reached for a paint brush, hazel eyes inspecting the bright pink color. " Neon pink?"

Kurt moved jerkily and snatched it away from him. "I'm considering all options, Puckerman!"

"Yeah. I guess so." The jock cocked an eyebrow at him and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The muscles in his arms flexed, and his jeans hugged him in all the right places. The view was...delicious. Kurt licked his lips. "So, the reason I'm here: Saturday's are lame. I got bored with video games and basketball so I came over to see what you were doing. To be honest, though, I drove by a few times to make sure your dad wasn't home."

Kurt's mouth twitched up into a smile as he placed the the paint brush next to the rest of the discarded colors. Instead of asking Puck to leave, like part of him wanted to, Kurt said quietly, "I'm trying to pick a color."

Puck's eyes danced around the walls. "You don't like the gray?"

"Not particularly." He loved the gray. He just didn't like the memories. Puck knelt down beside the colors that Kurt had not yet tossed out of the picking and opened an off-white.

"Boring enough?" He was joking; the laugh in his eyes made Kurt smile.

"I told you, I'm considering all options." He sat cross legged beside Puck, peeling off the cover of a navy blue. "Ugh, blue."

"What do you have against blue?" Puck dipped his finger into the paint, mixing it. Kurt felt stupid; his father had warned him about his lack of paint stirrers.

"I look pasty. Whatever color we choose, it has to match my comple-"

He froze as Puck swiped his finger once over his forehead. The cool paint rolled smoothly onto his skin, leaving a long, navy blue trail behind Puck's fingertip. The jock smiled. "I think it goes great with your complexion."

Kurt's mouth fell open. "Please tell me that you didn't just do that."

"I think I did." Puck's smile nearly reached his ears. Kurt had an inner struggle: run and save his face or reap revenge? Looking back on it, he realized that it had only taken him a moment to decide.

He was a rather vengeful person.

Kurt dove from the pink paint, dipping his entire fist into the open can, and managed to smear it all the way down Puck's white wife-beater before the jock grabbed him around the waist with green covered palms. They tumbled down onto the floor together, knocking paint over and rubbing it in each others hair. Kurt took a swipe at Puck's nose, coloring it purple before Puck grabbed him by the cheeks, leaving two large orange hand prints on his face. When it seemed like Puck was winning (Kurt's Ambercrombie tee - his only "trash" shirt - was at least five different colors now), Kurt gained leverage by sticking a slippery hand close to his favorite appendage, making him freeze in surprise.

Straddling the jock, Kurt pinned his paint-covered fists to the floor and tried to calm his own heavy breathing.

"I have yellow paint in my pants," Puck laughed under him, "and it's all your fault."

"I'm not the one who decided to clog my pores up with navy paint, P-"

"Are you going to kiss me or what, Hummel?"

Kurt rolled his eyes at the almost growled question (despite the fact that moments before he had felt himself start to lean forward). Puckerman and his hormones. And very suddenly, Kurt realized that he could feel something _hard _beneath him.

Very slowly, with an evil smile on his face, Kurt rotated his hips, rocking backward.

Puck groaned.

Kurt giggled. "Do paint fumes turn you on, Puckerman? Kinky."

"No, _you _turn me on," came the moaned reply, and the jock jerked up against him. Kurt bit back an inevitably embarrassing noise and, at Puck's prompting, released his fists.

Puck pushed himself into a sitting position, holding Kurt close in his lap, and his fingers found the edge of the soprano's ruined shirt. It was pulled upward, over Kurt's tousled and paint-filled hair, and onto the floor.

For a second, Puck's hazel eyes just roamed over Kurt, taking him in, while Kurt hungrily basked in his sensual gaze.

Their lips met with a passionate need, both seeking something that they couldn't find anywhere else. Puck's hands moved over Kurt's torso, his painted fingers leaving trails of numerous colors across the boy's naked paleness.

They rocked together, swallowing each others moans and letting their hands meander anywhere they pleased.

And Puck didn't miss it when Kurt whimpered "Noah" into the shell of his ear as they came.


	16. The Satisfaction

**Disclaimer – Not mine. Obviously. **

**...Sadly, I can't come up with a note to put here. D:**

**xoxo.**

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"That was hot."

"That was eloquent, Puckerman."

"There wasn't a better word to describe it."

Kurt let his eyelids fall shut. "I feel dirty."

A kiss was pressed into his bared shoulder. "You shouldn't."

Kurt sighed at the touch of Puck's warm lips. The feel was addictive, like Godiva truffles melting slowly on his tongue before slipping down his throat like - "Kurt? You have goosebumps."

"Shh. I'm dreaming about truffles."

"Isn't that a type of mushroom or something?"

Kurt cracked one eye into a slit. "Tell me your kidding."

Puck was silent for a few seconds, and then murmured quietly, "Chocolate?"

Kurt nodded and closed his eyes again, this time contently.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"_What_?"

"I have jizz in my pants."

"You just have a way with words, don't you?"

Lips moved to his neck. Kurt arched his back, craning his neck to provide easier access. Puck laughed against his skin. "Hummel, I need a shower. And I'm pretty sure you could use one as well."

He had to agree.

* * *

Kurt surveyed himself in the mirror, trying not to squeak in horror. Puck's orange hand prints had dried on his cheeks and his entire chest and stomach were covered in swipes of every color. When he turned around, fingerprints were smeared on his hips and shoulder blades. He resembled someone who had agreed to be a human canvas for finger-painting.

Puck touched a place close to his navel, fingertips tracing the stained patch of skin. "You should go with the green color. Looks good on you."

Kurt smiled and slid his fingers down Puck's naked chest, following a trail of yellow to the waistband of his jeans. "I like this sunshine one." His nimble fingers unbuttoned the jock's jeans before he had time to protest, though Puck merely stepped out of them without complaint.

Kurt flipped on the shower with a twist of his wrist, not bothering to adjust the water carefully like he usually would. Puck's hands, which were currently sliding down his back and onto his backside, were distracting him.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, Kurt dropped a soft, almost chaste kiss to Puck's lips and twisted out of his reach. "Take your shower, Puckerman."

"But-"

But Kurt was already backing toward the door. "Turn it left for hot, right for -"

"I know you want to."

The soprano smirked and all but ran to the upstairs bathroom.

Because he did want to.

And if he spent even a few more seconds near Puck, he would soon be naked and wrapped in the jock's arms.

And Kurt didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction.

* * *

**Yes, I know...It's short and crappy. I'm soo tired! I'm sorry. **

**Review?  
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	17. Stay

**Disclaimer – Not mine. Obviously. **

**Any scene requests? I'll try to fit them in if you give them to me. :)  
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**xoxo.**

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_"Girl, please excuse me if I'm coming too strong._

_But tonight is the night we can really let go._

_My girlfriend is out of town and I'm all alone_.

_Your boyfriend is on vacation and he doesn't have to know."_

May_be I'll like it. _Kurt tossed a comb through his hair, blue eyes locked his vanity mirror. Puck's voice was floating through the little crack in the bathroom door. Kurt sucked in a breath, trying steady himself. Puck couldn't know the effect his rough voice was having on Kurt.

_"The way you move on the floor._

_Baby, I like it_

_Come on and give me some more._

_Oh yes, I like it._

_Screaming like never before._

_Baby, I like it."_

The shower turned off. Kurt craned his neck, blue eyes straining to see the tanned body pass by the slit in the door.

He was rewarded with the stimulating view of Puck's broad back, clear droplets of water slipping down the rippling muscles. Kurt bit back a moan.

"I know I'm super sexy and everything, but stop being a creep." Kurt blushed, hearing the smile in Puck's voice. He turned back to his mirror.

"Your imagination is running away with you again, Puckerman."

"By the looks of things," Puck stuck his head out the door, hazel eyes traveling from Kurt's face to the boy's aching crotch, "so is yours."

Kurt glared and thought of his grandma in a bikini, a obese man in McQueen's new collection, Rachel Berry. The last one seemed to do it.

Puck walked into Kurt's room with a towel wrapped around his waist (Kurt averted his eyes) and sat down on the edge of the fashionable bed. "So, where's your dad, Hummel?"

"With Carol, I'd assume. It's date night." Kurt glanced at the clock next to his elbow.

Puck put a few pieces of Kurt's sentence together. "Your dad is dating Ms. Hudson?"

"All my meddling ended up being futile. My dad has a girlfriend, but I am still beau-less." Kurt wondered if the water from Puck's towel was seeping into his Prada duvet cover. As of reading his mind, Puck stood up and moved back toward the bathroom, stopping to lean on the door frame.

"So, you were using Ms. Hudson to...woo Finn? And you didn't see any flaws in that plan?"

Kurt's blazing glare returned. "I was _not _trying to seduce Finn Hudson! I was just creating a happy family environment for-"

"You were trying to woo Finn, Kurt." Puck smiled as the words of protest died in Kurt's throat. The boy sighed. "Hey, can I borrow a pair of underwear? You made a mess of mine."

Kurt crinkled his nose, but stood up to dig through his underwear drawer just the same. He found a pair of boxers that were too big to be his. Finn had obviously forgotten a few things when the Hudson's had moved out. Kurt passed them over.

"Wow, Kurt. A pair of his underwear, really?" He was teasing; the soft smile on his face gave him away. Kurt didn't have the energy to fight back.

* * *

"This isn't intelligent."

An hour later, after they had cleaned up all the paint on Kurt's floor (he almost died when he realized that some of it had dried, but somehow Puck had been able to get it off), Kurt was clutching the long neck of beer bottle with both hands. Puck thought he resembled a little kid who was holding something he definitely shouldn't be. It was only after Mr. Hummel called to explain that he would be staying over Carol's that Kurt had agreed to try it. Puck, however, was working on his second bottle.

"Chill out, Kurt. It's one beer. It's not like we're smoking pot or something."

Kurt's shoulders relaxed a little. He put his full lips around the tip of his beer and tilted it back, sipping the liquid gently.

And then promptly spit it back out again with a disgusted face. "That's the most repulsive drink I've ever subjected my taste buds to."

"Sorry, Princess. I'm kinda out of Apple Martinis." Puck shook his head.

"Oh, shut up, Puckerman." Kurt glared at him, then at the bottle in his hand, and then brought it to his lips again. This time, he managed to swallow it. "Ugh. It wasn't any better the second time."

Puck sighed. "You've already opened it. Just drink it, alright?"

Kurt crinkled his nose in that devastatingly cute way. Puck hid his smile. "Where's the personal gain?"

"Dude. You need personal gain to drink?"

"Well, considering this is my first time _ever _drinking, I would expect nothing less of-"

"Okay, I get it. Alright...if you finish that bottle...I'll do whatever you want."

Kurt seemed to consider this and then said quietly, "'Whatever' is a very broad term."

"Exactly."

The side of Kurt's mouth twitched upward, showing half of the smile that Puck loved, and took a swig from the bottle like true professional. He even managed to keep the sick look off his pretty face. Puck grinned.

* * *

"You've got big muscles!"

"Yeah, I know, Kurt."

"...'Ts sexy."

Puck sighed and tugged Kurt's hand (for at least the fifth time) away from the button fly on his borrowed boxers. "How is it possible that you're _this _drunk off of _one _beer?"

Kurt's fumbling fingers grabbed him by both his cheeks. "You're gonna do sooo many things! I finished that stupid beer and now you're my _slave! FOR LIFE."_

_"_Don't get ahead of yourself." Puck managed to say before Kurt pressed his lips sloppily onto the jock's and unsteadily climbed to his feet.

"To the magic fountain!"

Puck arched an eyebrow. "Kurt, where-?"

For a being drunk, he was moving quickly. Puck jumped to his feet as Kurt disappeared around the corner.

And found him, still fully clothed, standing in the shower with his arms flailing around like he was trying to fly. When Puck stepped in to get in him, the water was ice cold.

"Get out of the shower, you idiot!"

"You look sexy in the shower, Noah. All...naked and stuff." Kurt wrapped his arms around Puck's middle and nipped at the soft flesh under his ear.

Puck rolled his eyes and lifted him up, out of the cold water. "What am I going to do with you?"

"3rd base?"

"Shut up, Hummel." Puck made him stand upright.

"_Someone's_ grouchy." Kurt mumbled, wiping water out of his eyes, before promptly retched all over the tiled floor, just missing the toilet. Puck groaned as Kurt buckled, but he caught the smaller boy as he fell.

He proceeded to then walk down the basement stairs, Kurt safety mumbling in his arms.

By the time Puck sat him down on his bed, the boy was having trouble keeping his eyes open and Puck was facing a dilemma. His finger fumbled for a second at the collar of Kurt's tee shirt and then, thinking the better of it, began rifling around in the boy's closet for the blue silk pajamas that he'd caught a glimpse of earlier.

Unfortunately, Kurt's closet was bigger than Puck's entire bedroom.

He considered just pulling his own dry shirt over Kurt's soaked one, but he knew that once the boy was conscious again, he would blow up when he found out Puck had let him sleep in a designer brand.

So slowly, with extremely careful fingers, Puck pulled the v-neck over Kurt's head. Forcing his eyes away from the newly exposed, pale skin (he felt distinctly like a pedophile every time he glanced down), Puck gently pushed Kurt's arms through his own band tee shirt. Kurt only yawned.

Pants.

Kurt had pulled on a pair of jeans after their painting adventure. Tight skinny jeans. Puck reached for the button, and then stopped himself. What was he supposed to do now?

"Just get them off! They're uncomfortable!" Kurt whined, bucking his hips a little and he stretched to unbutton them himself. Puck took a deep breath and willed himself not to do something stupid, before shimmying the pants down and off Kurt's legs. Avoiding the one thing he _really _wanted to look at, Puck met Kurt's eyes.

They were clear, but tired; his eyelids were drooping slightly. Puck smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Carefully, he pushed Kurt backwards, laying him down on the bed, and pulled his comforter up under his chin.

"Good night, you bastard." Puck chuckled, shaking his head at the lump under the comforter before reaching over to turn off the light, spreading darkness over them. A thin, pale hand reached out and grabbed his fingers.

"Stop swearing." Puck moved to pull away, to walk down the stairs and leave, but the hand didn't release its tight grip.

Through the darkness, Puck heard Kurt whisper "stay" before the fashionable soprano turned over and fell asleep.

* * *

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	18. One Syllable

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**Sorry I haven't updated recently; soo busy!**

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Kurt rolled over, his head pounding.

He rubbed his face, not really carrying how many wrinkles he was causing, and slowly peeled his eyes open.

There was sun streaming through the only window in the basement. The night was coming back to his throbbing head slowly, in pieces, and he could already feel himself blushing.

He flung out an arm, knowing full well that Puck had stayed.

His arm, however, hit his second Ralph Lauren pillow. Kurt rolled onto his side and looked at the empty place beside him. The 700 thread count sheets were cold. Puck must have left awhile ago.

He wondered why, despite the fact that Kurt had practically _begged _(he shuddered inwardly at the thought), he decided to stay. It wasn't vital to Kurt's survival, and Puck hadn't gotten anything (that he remembered) out of it.

So why had he stayed?

Kurt dragged himself upright, ignoring the stabbing pain in the back of his head. He walked slowly up the basement stairs, the bare pads of his feet plodding against them in such an unlike Kurt way that even _he _had to question himself.

Burt was awake already; he was sipping coffee at the kitchen table, a NASCAR magazine open in front of him. When his son shuffled into the room, his eyes left the pages and ran quickly over the soprano.

"Morning, Kurt."

"Good morning, Dad."

"Good night?"

Kurt looked up from pouring himself a cup of dark coffee, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yes, it was sickeningly normal. More descriptively, more boring than a re-run of Seinfeld. Why?"

Burt cracked into a bark of laughter. "I didn't know you listened to Springsteen. Could've asked, I have at least...10 of his albums-"

"Dad, what on earth are you talking about?" Kurt lifted his eyebrow into his disheveled bangs, wondering if his father had finally gone senile. Burt gestured at his chest.

"Bruce Springsteen."

Kurt blinked twice, held his breath, and looked down. The black shirt hung on him, nearly hitting his knees, and there were lyrics to a song Kurt didn't know written across his ribs. And, to top it off, Kurt was one hundred percent sure it was _Kohl's_ brand cotton.

Plus, he was only wearing his underwear, which just wasn't something Kurt did.

"Oh."

Burt's shoulders were shaking with laughter.

"Dad, a _friend _let me borrow it on Friday. After I got slushied." He was improvising wildly while trying to keep his face straight. Burt's laughter slighted and the died, like Kurt knew it would.

"Sorry." He said, returning to his magazine. Kurt sipped his coffee.

"You didn't happen to see...I mean, there wasn't any weird trucks outside the house when you got home, right?" He stumbled over the sentence, leaning against the refrigerator. Burt glanced up again.

"No." He said simply, his eyes asking questions that his mouth (thankfully) didn't form. So Puck had left before Burt had gotten home. Kurt was trying to estimate the offical time of his departure when Burt asked, "Pick a color for your room?"

Snapshots of their paint fight flooded Kurt's mind. His cheeks flamed. He ducked his head behind his mug and crossed his legs as subtly as he could. "Not yet. It had to match everything per-"

"Skin tone, shoes, hair. Yeah, I know." Kurt decided not to correct him. Burt climbed out of his chair and placed his coffee mug in the sink. Reaching over, he affectionately ruffled Kurt's hair, something he would have never done if it were styled properly. "I'm off to work, kid."

He grabbed his keys off the counter and strode to the front door. Kurt waited for it to make that squealing noise as it fell shut behind him, but it never came. Instead, Kurt heard Burt say, "Kurt, I think someone left something out here for you."

* * *

Kurt shoved the daisy into a cup of water.

It looked identical to the ones that Ms. Peterson grew across the street.

He sighed and glanced at the note again.

_12:30? Your place? I didn't hold up my end of the bargain._

Kurt understood the note. Making out, feeling up, those were things Puck was supposed to do. But the flower?

He didn't understand the flower.

It was a sign, he was sure of it. Of something bad, something brewing under the surface.

Love?

He was scared.

He wanted to stop it.

* * *

His hands dragged across Kurt's back, making him arch into Puck.

Lips were at his chest, his Michael Kors button-down having already been discarded. Kurt could feel himself losing control.

But he needed to stop it.

Puck moaned at Kurt's fingers, which had decided to trace and squeeze his ass on their own accord, while Puck's hands moved downward, closer and closer to the place Kurt needed them to be.

And then when Puck finally touched him, rubbed him _there_, Kurt let a syllable word slip through his lustful lips.

"Finn."

Kurt had never been so ashamed of himself.


	19. Ruined

**Disclaimer – Not mine. Obviously. **

**MWAHAHA. Liked last chapter everyone? ;D**

**xoxo, Chuck.**

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Puck felt his heart shatter.

_What?_

Someone tell him that Kurt just hadn't murmured Finn's name.

Please.

He ripped Kurt's hands away from him like they were contagious.

The second he did, he wanted them back on his skin.

He felt like his stomach was being twisted into tight knots.

_I'ma badass, this dick isn't going to break my heart like I'm some pussy, I'ma badass, this dick isn't going to break my heart like I'm some pussy._

He was chanting over and over in his head.

Kurt wasn't looking at him; his face was turned to the side, eyes locked on the wall. Like he realized his mistake, but he didn't care.

_Why didn't he care_?

"I don't understand."

He didn't care how pathetic he sounded. He needed answers. Kurt avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry."

He didn't seem sorry in the slightest. Puck shook his head. "You still-?"

"I love Finn. I thought it was obvious."

"You're lying." He wasn't sure that he was. Kurt's head snapped up.

"Am I, Puckerman? Who do you think I love, then? You?" He let out a cold laugh that made Puck's skin crawl. "Please. You're not good enough to lick the bottoms of my Louis Vuitton loafers."

"You'll fucking regret this, Hummel." He managed to growl between the snapping and crunching of the destruction of his heart.

And, picking the pieces off Kurt's cold floor, he stomped out.

He felt like breaking down into girly sobs as he did so.

But if anyone asked, he would lie.

* * *

Kurt cried for a long time. He had tried to ignore the urge, but tears were almost impossible to avoid.

So he ended up on his floor, crying into the Bruce Springsteen tee shirt that smelled like coffee and Axe.

He wondered why he felt so terrible if everything had gone just as planned. Distraught and defeated by his own personal fear of something he couldn't quite place, Kurt dragged himself into bed and cried into the pillows.

He cried at his own stupidity.

He cried at his idiotic way of pushing Puck away.

He cried at the fact that, despite the flower, the tee shirt, the butterflies, he still hadn't realized how much he needed and _wanted _Noah in his life.

He cried because he realized he'd used Puck's real name in his head instead of his nickname.

He cried because he _loved _Noah.

And what had he just done?

He'd ruined everything.

* * *

**Short, I know. Sooo much homework!  
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**review? xo.  
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	20. What Am I Supposed To Do Now?

**Disclaimer – Not mine. Obviously. **

* * *

"Boy."

Clouds. Peaceful chirping birds.

"White Boy."

A soft, rippling stream. Pants rolled up to the knee (_no _wrinkling, thank Gucci). Toes in the water. Noah, laughing.

"Kurt!"

He opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to lose the image in his head. Mercedes was looking at him like he'd worn pajamas to school. "Yes?"

She arched an eyebrow. "What's up with you? We're doing My Fair Lady and you have yet to quote Eliza."

"I'm perfect." He managed a small smile, the cocky one that would usually make Mercedes laugh. She only looked at him. "Mercedes, I'm exhausted from all the extra...homework I did last night."

She didn't believe him; it was evident by her profile, but she merely shrugged. "Party at Santana's tonight. You're coming."

He cocked his head to the side. "Was I even invited to such an occasion?"

"Kurt, she just announced it to the whole Glee club." Her eyebrows pulled together, obviously worried. Kurt managed a half-hearted laugh. "Anyway...What are you wearing?"

He wanted to curl up in bed in his favorite silk pajamas. With effort, he created the perfected outfit in his head. "Black Prada skinnies. Baby blue Gabbana knit sweater. Shoes are undecided at this point."

She nodded in appreciation and seemed to regain confidence in his sanity. "The white loafers you have."

He agreed, ignoring shamefully the clenching in his stomach. He felt his eyes wander, floating toward the opposite end of the room. Puck hadn't taken a seat; his back was pressed into the wall, and his eyes weren't focused on anything in particular.

He didn't appear to be in any distress at all.

Kurt blinked and checked his nail beds.

_You're not good enough to lick the bottoms of my Louis Vuitton loafers._

_

* * *

_

He ended up wearing a button-down and bow tie instead. It made him look happier.

Kurt touched the sunshine yellow bow and took a deep breath as Mercedes dragged him toward the crowd of cheerios and Glee members that were officially overloading the carrying capacity of Santana's small house. The music was so loud that the floor was vibrating.

He wondered how he had gotten there. Parties weren't exactly Mercedes' style...Or Kurt's, for that matter.

But there he was, his shoulders knocking into dancing bodies as Mercedes' fingers slipped off his bared arm and she was engulfed by the crowd.

He tried not to panic.

There were people on every side of him, pressing him into a prison of gross, grinding bodies. He was squeaking in protest, trying to elbow his way through them, but it was futile.

But then an arm swung out, caught him around the middle, and jerked him into a less crowded, more quiet room. Kurt clung to the arm that had saved him, pressing his forehead to the person's bicep, and took a deep, soothing breath.

"Thank you." He managed to say, not bothering to open his eyes.

"No problem, dude. You looked like, sick, or something."

Kurt's eyes blinked open, taking in the muscles in his savors arm. Stepping backward, he grimaced up at Finn's tall frame. "I don't like crowds."

"Which is why you prefer the stage. Yeah, I remember you said that a few days go."

"I think that was last year, Finn."

"Oh." He shrugged his big shoulders, grinning like a madman. He had a plastic cup in his hand and the liquid inside slopped a little when he lifted his shoulders. Kurt peered into the contents and wrinkled his nose.

"Beer?"

Finn looked down at it, his face slightly ashamed. "Yeah. I don't really like it that much, but - HEY!"

Kurt had swiped the cup out his hand, and he downed it in one, long gulp. Wiping his mouth, he passed the empty plastic back to a shell-shocked Finn. "Sorry. I'm almost positive I needed that more than you."

"Yeah..."

"Kurt!" Mercedes flung one of her arms around him. "I'm so sorry!" He nodded, excepting the apology, and then snagged the red cup out of her hand. Before Finn could utter a warning, he'd tipped the contents into his mouth and Mercedes was staring at him like he'd grown an extra eye. "Kurt...?"

He tucked the cup onto the coffee table by their feet, not bothering to offer an explanation, because Mercedes and Finn both turned their heads toward the dance floor, finally zeroing in on Kurt's pain.

Puck, dancing.

Puck, his lips attached to a cheerios neck.

Puck, his hips rotating into her backside.

Kurt stole another cup from a passing student.

"They're grinding." Finn noted unnecessarily. Kurt downed the drink as fast as possibly. He even managed to dribble some on his chin. Mercedes wrinkled her nose.

"That's disgusting. He doesn't even like her. That's not the one."

Kurt's ears perked. "The one?"

Finn nodded. "Some girl totally ripped Puck a new one. He's, like, totally in love with her or something."

"It isn't exactly Puckzilla like." Mercedes added. "Which explains the grinding. He's trying to get some of his man points back."

"And how," Kurt wondered aloud, trying to ignore the clenching in his heart,"do you know that the cheerio he's dancing with isn't _the one_?"

Mercedes glanced at Finn. He bashfully looked down at his feet. "Puck called Finn last night. Talking about the girl that broke his 'studly' heart. It can't be the cheerio; he said he'd never speak to her again."

Kurt was desperately seeking another drink. Girl? He sniffed indignantly.

At the same time, his stomach was being twisted into painful knots.

What. Had. He. Done?

* * *

Five drinks down.

Finn was surprised he could still stand.

Sure, everything was incredibly funny and his fingertips were oddly numb, but at least Kurt could still keep his footing.

And dance, for that matter.

Finn was worried. He had one hand on Kurt's waist, the other raking a anxious path through his own hair. Kurt never drank. He always complained about the harmful effects it had on your body or whatever.

Yet there he was, totally trashed, dancing like a stripper in the middle of Santana's party.

Did Finn mention he was being used as the stripper pole?

"Kurt, you have to stop. This is getting weird." He muttered carefully into the boy's ear as he rocked into Finn's hips. Kurt pouted, but immediately halted his distressing show and instead began to bust out perfect disco moves.

Finn blamed Mr. Shue.

"You're so drunk." He smiled and caught Kurt by the wrists, pulling him toward the exit. "We've got to get you home or something."

"_The one_." Kurt was giggling, blue eyes wide. "_The one_. I'm like Harry Potter or something!"

"Yup. Just like Harry Potter. If he was gay. And didn't need glasses. And couldn't do magic." But the second part of Kurt's sentence registered suddenly. "Wait, _you're _the one?"

Finn watched Kurt's eyes narrow. "Don't be silly, Finny!"

He giggled, because it was so hilarious that Finn's name could be rhymed with silly. Finn rolled his eyes and forced the smaller boy down onto the front steps. Kurt complained loudly about his pants, but fell silent when Finn told him to.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt promptly vomited on Finn's favorite Air Jordan's.

* * *

"Has anyone seen Mercedes?"

Puck looked up from his hands and let his eyes find Finn, who was trampling around barefoot. He stood up and wiped his clammy palms on the back of his jeans. "Finn? What do you need Mercedes for?"

"Kurt." Puck blinked twice and fought the urge to walk away. "I need someone to take him home. I have to wait around for Artie and Rachel. Hey!" A dopey grin spread over Finn's face. Puck kind of wanted to punch him. "You could, couldn't you? You're not busy or anything."

Puck searched desperately for an excuse. "I, uh-"

"Please, man? I don't have anyone else to turn to."

So Puck had nodded, followed him out to the front of Santana's house, and found Kurt curled into the fetal position on the cement. Sighing, he placed a hand under the boy's soft head and pulled him into a sitting position.

"Hummel." He merely groaned. "Kurt."

One eye opened, and then abruptly snapped shut again. "Go away."

Finn's eyes narrowed in confusion. Puck scrubbed a hand over his face. "Um, Finn, I got this from here, man. Go find Artie or something."

He seemed relieved.

Once he was gone, Puck turned back to the challenge at hand. "Listen, Hummel, I don't need to help you. Truthfully, I feel like I should leave your sorry ass out here to freeze all night. You'd deserve it."

"I know."

"But I love you." He wouldn't remember anything in the morning, Puck was sure of it. "And I'm stupid. So I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not."

He shoved an arm under Kurt's shoulders and tugged him upright, faithfully ignoring the fast beating of his heart when Kurt's forehead rested softly in the nape of his neck.

He pushed the soprano into the passenger seat of his car and climbed into the drivers before slipping the key into the ignition and pulling onto the highway.

"LoveyoutooNoah."

Puck glanced over at Kurt, slumped in his seat. "Oh, yeah? How come you told me that you loved Finn instead?"

The kid's eyes were barely open. His eyelashes were fluttering. "Brakmaihart."

Puck's heart jumped into his throat. "Break your heart?" The boy managed a nod. "Kurt, I fucking love you, you ass-"

He emitted a little snore.

Puck gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, hazel eyes focused back on the road.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

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**Review, please. :) xoxo.**


	21. The Death of Me

**Disclaimer – Not mine. Obviously. **

**WARNING: This chapter should probably be rated M.**

**Just sayin'.**

**So beware.  
**

**:) I love your reviews. **

**xoxo, Chuck.  
**

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For the second time in his life, Kurt woke up in his underwear and a band tee shirt that smelled faintly like coffee and Axe.

For the first time in his life, though, there was someone warm beside him.

Kurt basked in the glow, curling against the warmth, fingertips slipping under the bed sheet and spreading over a taut, bare stomach.

He lifted his head off his pillow and place his cheek against a firm chest. He placed a soft kiss on the hot skin, loving the way it felt under his lips.

Boldly, his tongue slid carefully over a hard nipple.

There was a moan, and a large hand found his head, raking through his hair.

Kurt let his lips travel downward, kissing each defined ab, his tongue slipping into the bellybutton, then sliding along the line of the pair of maroon briefs.

The hand in his hair left, tracing along his jaw, touching his face in such an intimately romantic way that Kurt wished he wasn't dreaming.

Wondering how far his imagination would let him go until he was jerked into reality, he let the soft pads on his fingers rub over the hard bulge visible in the red underwear.

"Kurt." It was shuddered, weak, and quickly followed by an erotic moan when Kurt pressed harder, soaking in the hardness against his palm.

Then arms were around him, pulling him up, and a searing kiss was placed on his waiting lips.

He was flipped over onto his back, aggressive kisses still being slammed onto his lips, and straddled.

And he realized that it kind of _hurt_.

Which meant he wasn't dreaming.

Which meant someone was scraping their teeth down his throat, surely leaving a mark.

Someone was licking the shell of his ear, making his shiver and arch his back.

Someone dragged his tongue tantalizingly over the wet spot on the front of Kurt's Prada underwear.

Someone was being shoved away.

Someone toppled off the bed and landed heavily on the floor, cursing loudly.

Kurt scrambled upright, clinging to the soft cotton tee shirt that had been pulled over his head. He was shaking; there were goosebumps on his arms.

Puck climbed off the floor, hastily readjusting himself, and cleared his throat awkwardly. Kurt's eyes were locked on the boy's sharp jawline, his pretty hazel eyes, his pouting lips.

He reached up, feeling the sore spot on his neck. Puck's eyes fluttered there and Kurt could have swore his cheeks flushed a little.

"You might want to wear a scarf or...something." He said quietly, voice hoarse.

Kurt swallowed. "Thank you for that stunning piece of wisdom, Puckerman." He didn't even snap back; his cheeks flamed red. Kurt's eyes narrowed. "What is it? What did I say last night?"

Puck shuffled his feet and tried to put his hands in his pockets, forgetting he was only wearing his underwear. His arms flopped awkwardly to the side. "Nothing."

"Really?" Kurt tapped his barefoot on the floor. "Because you're blushing like a little boy who got caught glancing up a girl's skirt. Also, you should be incredibly angry with me at this moment and you're not. What did I say, Puckerman?"

"I should go," he said, and successfully located his jeans, which were in a rumpled pile near the bed. Kurt balled up the shirt in his hand and threw it at Puck's head. It missed, but landed softly on one of his broad shoulders. "Thanks."

Kurt sighed and took a few steps closer, watching the boy's long fingers fumbled on his belt. He kept missing the right notch.

Lightly, the soprano reached out a feathery hand and slid the prong into the third hole, smirking in satisfaction when the belt fell perfectly on Puck's waist.

Leaning over carefully, as though he was afraid that Kurt would slap him away, Puck placed a soft kiss on the crown on his head, dipping his nose into the mess of Kurt's coconut smelling hair.

"You said that I was going to break your heart." He whispered, the sound making Kurt melt at the knees. He bent forward a little, pressing his chest into Puck's. "I thought it was kind of obvious, Kurt."

"What?" He cursed the illegitimate sounding question. Puck didn't seem to notice; he merely chuckled.

"You're going to be the death of me, Kurt Hummel."

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**Review, please. :) xoxo.**


	22. It's Really That Simple

**Disclaimer - For the love of Gucci, I DO NOT own Glee.  
**

**So, dear readers, Shameless is coming to a close pretty soon. **

**Soon as in the next two chapters. So yeah. **

**Enjoy.**

**

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**

"You're going to be the death of me, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt's toes curled into the carpet. There was a voice in his head that was screaming "NoNoNoNO", but another, one that sounded suspiciously like Britney, was telling him something completely different. He lifted his head and met Puck's hazel eyes.

"But you have to make up your mind already." His toes uncurled. Puck took a step back. "Because I am getting SO tired of this crazy up and down shit that you've been putting me through. It's obvious you don't like Finn, and even if you did, that's nothing is ever going to happen between you two. So get over it and realize that I love you more than he ever will."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. His fingers were playing with his messing hair, trying desperately to put it back into place. "You have enough tactfulness to fill a teaspoon."

"Is that a good thing?" Puck flashed his cocky grin, the one that made Kurt's heart jump into his throat, and backed toward the stairs. "The bottom line, Kurt, is that I love you to fucking death. I won't hurt you, I'll always be there, blah blah blah, more corny stuff. So figure out if you love me back, alright? I'm not going to wait forever."

"What incredible eloquence you have." He yawned lightly, his words almost murmured.

"Yeah, well, at least I get the point across the first time," Puck said, foot placed on the first step. His eyes lingered on Kurt's face, flushed, and his smile faltered a little. "But, uh, if you don't or something...let me down easy, alright? I've never, like...felt this way or whatever. Damn, I sound like a pussy."

One side of Kurt's mouth ticked upward, the small start of the huge grin that felt like it was going to explode onto his lips. "Don't worry, Noah. I'm rather good with words."

Somehow, that made him feel a little bit worse. He let his foot drop off the step and in three fluid strides, he captured Kurt in his arms again.

If there was only one thing Puck could do for the rest of his life, it would be holding Kurt Hummel.

Because in some way, they _fit_.

They worked.

He closed his eyes, feeling Kurt press his forehead into the crook of his neck, and hoped to God that the feeling was mutual.

* * *

Burt woke up a few minutes after Puck had climbed into his truck and driven away. The oldest Hummel caught the last glimpse of Puck's tailgate disappearing from the driveway. He was sipping at his coffee, wondering if the kid driving had taken a wrong turn when Kurt finally dragged himself upstairs.

"Morning, son."

"Hey, Dad."

"Did you have a visitor or something this morning?"

Kurt opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "No. It's only nine, Dad."

"There was a red pickup in the driveway." Burt jerked his head toward the window while the wheels in his head turned; where had he seen that truck before? His son placed a frying pan on the front burner, cracking the egg with visibly shaking fingers.

"Maybe they took a wrong turn."

Burt's eyes narrowed. "How are things with that guy?"

Kurt cracked another egg, but it slipped and splattered onto the tiled floor. "What guy?"

"The one who owned the Springsteen shirt."

Kurt didn't answer immediately; he wiped the egg off the floor with a wet cloth, eyes locked on the tile, and cracked another before opening his mouth. "Actually, Dad, I think I messed it up."

"Hmph. I doubt-"

"No, really. I keep...pushing him away for no reason except that I'm scared out of my mind." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it in a uncharacteristic way. Burt nodded at his coffee cup.

"Do you like the kid or not?"

Kurt shook his head. "Is it that simple?"

"Yeah, Kurt, it is."

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	23. Shameless

**Disclaimer - sighhhh.**

**Possibly the last chapter of Shameless. :)**

**Mostly likely.**

**As in...this IS the last chapter.  
**

**So, read slowly. **

**Thanks for reading and the support, guys. I couldn't have done it without the motivation! **

**xoxo, Chuck.  
**

**

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**

Puck rolled over, eyes finding the small window that looked out onto the street. It was about three in the morning, and he couldn't sleep. Heavy rain was falling, making that familiar pattering sound on his tin roof and obscuring his view of the outside world. The house was drafty and cold from the November weather. He pulled his flannel sheet up further on his chest.

It had been three days.

Three days, no answer.

Did no answer just mean...no?

Puck sighed and pushed the blankets away from him. Suddenly, they were just too heavy. He wasn't sure how this had all happened.

One minute, he just wanted to make out with the dude. The second, he was proclaiming his love and stomping away like an idiot.

Who _did _that? The people in movies?

He groaned, slapping a hand over his face. He hated himself, suddenly, for being stupid.

Because making out with Kurt was probably better than no Kurt at all.

Under his pillow, his phone vibrated. He flipped over and dug it out with searching fingers, before squinting at the bright screen.

_It's extremely cold out here. _

Puck titled his head to the side, re-reading the text. It was cold..._?  
_

Carefully, he pulled himself out of bed and walked to his window, placing his forehead against a cold pane of glass as his eyes searched the rain.

And then he saw it.

The small figure leaning against the light post, without an umbrella for protection, waving feebly up at him.

* * *

Kurt rolled over, blue eyes finding the only window in his basement room.

It had been three days.

Three tortuous, terrible days in which Kurt racked his brains for a reason _not _to love Puck. Other than the obvious he's-only-going-to-break-your-heart-and-make-you-look-stupid reason.

Rolling over, he smoothed his silk pajamas, eyes traveling along his room. He was looking for something. Something familiar, something to give him a sign.

His eyes passed several empty paint cans, the Springsteen tee shirt, the little note that had been left on his doorstep, and found a picture of his mother.

He sighed. How cliche it was, to be asking your dead mother for advice about a boy.

He climbed out of bed with soft, padding feet and gently took the picture from his vanity. Setting himself carefully on the edge of his make-up chair, he smiled at his mother, who's head was bent over sheet music, and asked silently for some type of guidance.

There was only the soft hum of the heat, which Burt must have turned on before he went to bed.

Kurt swallowed another sigh and kissed the tips of his fingers, placing them softly on the glass that separated him from the glossy picture paper.

Tucking the picture back into it's normal spot, he sat back in his chair and wondered how he had gotten there. He blamed it wholly on his teenage hormones.

Making out with Puck wasn't something Kurt was proud of, not in the slightest, but he had definitely wanted to. Wanted him. Now, Puck wanted him, too. It was just in an entirely different way.

Kurt spread his fingers out on the arm of his chair.

A sudden glint of glass caught his eye; he blinked twice and found the thin cobalt vase sitting on his bedside table.

In it, a small daisy was withering.

Kurt distinctly remembered his father finding it on the front steps after Puck had fled the scene.

At the sight of it, he was suddenly drowned in abrupt motivation. He pulled himself out of his make-up chair and stomped toward his closest.

He was going to fix things, if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

Puck threw on a pair of sweatpants and a Nirvana shirt, shoving his feet into a ratty pair of converse.

He nearly fell down the stairs and his shoulder bounced off the door frame when he tried to wrestle his way out the front door.

The icy rain hit his face and the back of his neck, but he kept going, his long strides bringing him closer and closer to the figure. He was leaning against the light post across the street, slumped in such a way that, for a second, Puck doubted himself. As he neared, though, he recognized his own Bruce Springsteen shirt hanging off the thin frame, soaked.

He stepped closer, finally able to see the wet face. "Didn't think to bring an umbrella?

"I was in a slight hurry."

Puck jerked his head noncommittally and shuffled his feet, shoes squeaking over the heavy pounding of the rain. Water was already permeating the old canvas. There was an intense emotion in Kurt's eyes, churning in the bright irises, but Puck couldn't quite place it. "How'd you find my house?"

"My extraordinary detective skills." Kurt pushed his soaked bangs out of his eyes. "Namely, Facebook and MapQuest."

Puck didn't have the energy to laugh. He managed a small, crooked smile. Kurt looked down at his shoes, ignoring the rain that was pelting his newly exposed neck. As he did, Puck caught a little glimpse of the love mark he'd left near the soprano's ear. He cleared his throat. "Kurt, as much as I love standing out in the rain, I-"

"I love you."

The words in Puck's throat died immediately. He blinked, unable to think of a response. Kurt paraded onward.

"That sounded a lot less dramatic than I wanted it to be." He mused quietly, pressing his knuckles to his lips. "But honestly, it's true. I'm not exactly sure why. You're stubborn and vulgar and most of the time, you have no idea what I'm talking about. You mess up my hair and listen to Country music. You have a disgusting sense of humor and I absolutely _hate _the way you drive."

Puck raised his eyebrows. Kurt didn't stop.

"But for some reason, God thought it would be funny if I fell in love with you." Kurt's eyes found the sky above them. He shook his head and looked down again, meeting Puck's hazel eyes. "So here I am, Noah. Ardently, stupidly, additively, strangely, absolutely _smitten_."

Puck smirked as Kurt's cheeks flushed. He placed one hand on his hip, one eyebrow arching into his dripping hair. "Noah Puckerman, say something. I didn't get out of bed at three in the morning and ruin my hair for silence! I refuse to be -"

Puck took his face in both his hands, pulling him close, shivering when Kurt's fingers pressed into his wet chest.

When he kissed him, when their lips met, Puck got the rush, the thrill, the heart-pounding, firework-bursting, tear-jerking feeling that seeped through his entire body, flooding him. His nerves exploded, his hands dropped from Kurt's face to explore the familiar territory and, very suddenly, Noah Puckerman was inexplicably, ridiculously _happy. _

And Kurt Hummel was utterly_ shameless_.

* * *

_Since I ran my hands over you, nothing else will ever do now. To cool me down._

END. :)

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